She said, "I sure as hell hope you find the vicious fuck who did this. They just can't get away with this. That would be the worst thing."

"They?"

"They, he, whoever."

"What would be the worst thing, ma'am?"

"No consequences. Everything should have consequences."

"Well," said Milo, "my job is catching vicious fucks."

Zoghbie's expression went flat.

"Ma'am, is there anything you can tell us that might help the process along?"

"Enough with the ma'am, okay?" she said. "It's coming across patronizing. Is there anything I can tell you? Sure, look for a fanatic-probably a religious extremist. My bet would be a Catholic, they seem to be the worst. Though I was married to a Muslim, and they're no great shakes." Her head bobbed forward as she studied Milo's face. "What's your background?"

"Actually, I was raised Catholic, ma'am."

"So was I," said Zoghbie. "Down on my knees confessing my sins. What rubbish. The pity for both of us. Candles and guilt and bullshit spewed by impotent old men in funny hats-yes, I'd definitely look for a Catholic. Or a born-again Christian. Anyone fundamentalist for that matter. Orthodox Jews are just as bad, but they don't seem as predisposed to violence as the Catholics, probably because there's not enough of them to get cocky. Fanatics are all cut out of the same mold: God's on my side, I can do whatever the fuck I please. As if the Pope or Imam Whatever is going to be around when your loved one is writhing in agony and choking on their own vomit. The whole right-to-life thing is obscene. Life's sacred but it's okay to set off bombs at abortion clinics, pick off doctors. Eldon was made an example of. Look for a religious fanatic."

She smiled. It didn't fit the diatribe. Her eyes were dry again.

"Talk about sin," she said. "Hypocrisy's the worst sin. Why the hell can't we get past the bullshit they feed us in childhood and learn to think independently?"

"Conditioning," I said.

"That's for lower animals. We're supposed to be better."

Milo pulled out his pad. "Do you know of any actual threats against Dr. Mate?"

The specificity of the question-the police routine- seemed to bore her. "If there were, Eldon never told me."

"What about his attorney, Roy Haiselden. Do you know him, as well?"

"Roy and I have met."

"Any idea where he is, ma'am? Can't seem to locate him."

"Roy's all over the place," she said. "He owns laundromats up and down the state."

"Laundromats?"

"Coin-ops in strip malls. That's how he makes his money. What he does for Eldon doesn't pay the bills. It basically killed the rest of his law practice."

"Have you known him and Dr. Mate for a long time?"

"I've known Eldon for five years, Roy a little less."

"Any reason Mr. Haiselden wouldn't return our calls?"

"You'd have to ask him that."

Milo smiled. "Five years. How'd you get to know Dr. Mate?"

"I'd been following his career for a while." Her turn to smile. "Hearing about him was like a giant lightbulb going on: someone was finally shaking things up, doing what needed to be done. I wrote him a letter. I guess you could call it a fan letter, though that sounds so adolescent. I told him how much I admired his courage. I'd been working with a humanist group, had retired from my job-got retired, actually. I decided to find some meaning in all of it."

"You were fired because of your views?" I said.

Her shoulders shifted toward me. "Big surprise?" she snapped. "I was working in a hospital and had the nerve to talk about things that needed talking about. That chafed the hides of the assholes in charge."

"Which hospital?"

"Pasadena Mercy."

Catholic hospital.

She said, "Leaving that dump was the best thing that ever happened to me. I founded the Socrates Club, kept up with the SHI-my first group. We were having a convention in San Francisco and Eldon had just won another victory in court, so I thought, Who better to deliver the keynote? He answered my invitation with a charming note, accepting." Blink. "After that, Eldon and I began to see each other-socially but not sexually, since you're obviously going to ask. Life of the mind; I'd have him over for dinner, we'd discuss things, I'd cook for him. Probably the only decent meals he had."

"Dr. Mate didn't care about food?" said Milo.

"Like most geniuses, Eldon tended to ignore his personal needs. I'm a great cook, felt it was the least I could do for a mentor."

"A mentor," said Milo. "He was training you?"

"A philosophical guide!" She jabbed a finger at us. "Stop wasting your time with me and catch this fuckhead."

Milo sat back, sank in, surrendered to gravity. "So the two of you became friends. You seem to be the only female friend he had-"

"He wasn't gay, if that's what you're getting at. Just choosy. He was married and divorced a long time ago. Not an edifying experience."

"Why not?"

"Eldon didn't say. I could see he didn't want to talk about it and I respected his wishes. Now, is there anything else?"

"Let's talk about the weekend Dr. Mate was murdered. You-"

"Rented the van? Yes, I did. I'd done it before because when Eldon showed up at the rental company, sometimes there were troubles."

"They didn't want to rent to him."

Zoghbie nodded.

"So," said Milo, "the night he was murdered, Dr. Mate was planning to help another traveler."

"I assume."

"He didn't tell you who?"

"Of course not. Eldon never discussed his clinical activities. He called and said, 'Alice, I'll be needing a van tomorrow.'"

"Why didn't he discuss his work?" said Milo.

"Ethics, Detective," Zoghbie said with exaggerated patience. "Patient confidentiality. He was a doctor."

The phone rang, distant as the clock chime.

"Better get that," she said, standing. "Could be the press."

"They've been in touch?"

"No, but they might be, once they find out I'm back."

"How would they know that, ma'am?"

"Please," she said. "Don't be naive. They have their ways." She dance-walked through the dining room and out of sight.

Milo rubbed his face and turned to me. "Think Mate was boffing her?"

"She did take the time to mention that their relationship was social but not sexual. Because we were obviously going to ask. So maybe."

Alice Zoghbie returned, looking grim.

"The press?" said Milo.

"A nuisance call-my accountant. The IRS wants to audit me-big surprise, huh? I've got to go gather my tax records, so if there's nothing else…" She pointed to the door.

We stood.

"You climb mountains for fun?" said Milo.

"I hike, Detective. Long-distance walks on the lower slopes, no pitons or any of that stuff." She gave Milo's gut a long appraisal. "Stop moving and you might as well die."

That reminded me of something Richard Doss had told me six months ago:

I'll rest when I'm dead.

Milo said, "Did Dr. Mate stay active?"

"Mentally, only. Never could get him to exercise. But what does that have to do with-"

"So you have no idea who Dr. Mate was going to help the weekend he died?"

"No. I told you, we never discussed patient issues."

"The reason I'm asking is-"

"You think a traveler killed him? That's absurd."

"Why, ma'am?"

"These are sick people we're talking about, Detective. Weak people, quadriplegics, Lou Gehrig's disease, terminal cancer. How could they have the strength? And why would they? Now, please."

Her foot tapped. She looked jumpy. I supposed an audit could do that to you.

"Just a few more details," said Milo. "Why'd you choose the Avis in Tarzana? Far from here and from Dr. Mate's place."

"That was the point, Detective."

"What was?"

"Covering our tracks. Just in case someone got suspicious and refused to rent to us. That's also why I chose Avis. We alternated. Last time was Hertz; before that, Budget."